Move Beside Me
by Ithilwen C. Malfoy
Summary: An obsession leads Harry Potter, in his seventh year, and Severus Snape into a twisting tale of infatuation, discovery and danger. SLASH.
1. Sometimes Words Have Two Meanings

Author: Marianne Malfoy, aka. Ithilwen.

Feedback: Always welcome and appreciated.

Rating: PG-13, will go up in later chapters.

Warning: Will be SLASH. If you don't like it, don't read it, but please don't flame me. I have warned you and I shan't be sympathetic. 

Pairings: HP/SS, HG/RW, other minor relationships mentioned in passing. 

Spoilers: PP, CoS, PoA, GoF, 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them', 'Quidditch Through The Ages'.

Author's note: This fic is dedicated to my wonderful muse and best friend, Squigsy.

Disclaimer: All characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and various publishers including, but not exclusive to, Bloomsbury Books, Warner Bros., Obscurus Books. No financial gain is being made from this story.   

Move Beside Me

//I'm walking through the clouds

When you're looking at me.

I'm feeling like a child

Vulnerability.

I am shaking like a leaf

If you move beside me

And you're all that I see

But it's no good for me.

- 'No Good For Me' by The Corrs. //

"The instructions were to _dice the mandrake root, Potter, not mutilate it."_

Harry was jolted to his senses and realised that he had been stabbing his mandrake root viciously for ten minutes and that it was now a pulped mess. A year ago, he would have glared defiantly at Snape for humiliating him, but now he blushed and steadfastly refused to look up at the Potions teacher.

His mind had, admittedly, been elsewhere throughout the lesson, and Harry cursed himself for making such a fool of himself. He had been trying, and fully intended, to prove his intelligence to Snape this year, to prove he was no longer a silly child, but that he was mature and worthy of respect. But it seemed that whenever Snape appeared his mind went blank and he became a clumsy teenager again, unable to think up intelligent things to say, and unable to stop blushing at his own stupidity. Harry knew that this only cemented Snape's views that he was a fool, and he hated himself for being unable to prove he was worthy of anything more than contempt.

"As mandrake roots are far too valuable to waste on idiotic Seventh Years, you will add yours in its current state, Potter." Snape's voice glittered with malice as he continued, "Let us hope the results are satisfactory." The 'for your sake' was left unsaid, but Harry could feel it hanging in the air. 

Harry clenched his fists under the desk and was determined he would not meet Snape's glittering black gaze, but Snape's voice was too slicing, too malicious for him to ignore. Harry knew that if he met Snape's eyes things would become a lot worse, but involuntarily, like a moth to a flame, he felt his eyes drawn upwards.

And he was caught. Trapped by those cold, black eyes, hanging breathlessly in time, wanting desperately to look away, and at the same time desperate to stay connected to the power he felt in that gaze. The butterflies in his stomach became eagles and he was flying, soaring high in the sky, among the clouds. Then Snape looked away and he fell back down to earth with a thud, where his puréed mandrake waited to be added to the cauldron.

Breathing raggedly, and feeling something in between exhilaration and mortification, Harry returned to stirring his potion, praying that no one else had noticed what just happened, and feeling stupid for thinking it because he knew nobody was paying attention to anything he did. This delusional paranoia was getting worrying. 

Now that this was the seventh year and that Potions was a NEWT subject choice, the students sat alone and talking was not permitted. Harry was thinking wistfully that it'd be useful to be working with Hermione, when he heard her cough pointedly behind him.

"Add a little powdered merscale." She mouthed when he turned round.

Harry nodded his thanks and turned back to his cauldron, adding the mandrake pulp, which turned the potion a frightening green colour, then quickly added a pinch of merscale (the powdered scales of a Merperson, which could only be obtained if given willingly by the Merperson in question. Merpeople being spiteful and selfish, merscale was a relatively rare and expensive potion ingredient). This turned the correct pinkish-grey and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Potter." 

Harry jumped and snapped his notebook shut hastily as Snape spoke suddenly from behind him. Snape stepped nearer to look into the cauldron and Harry tensed as he could feel the man's closeness. Unwilling to look round in case he found himself face to face with the pale skin, knife-sharp cheekbones and onyx eyes of the Potions master, Harry stayed still, tense, waiting for him to speak again. When he did, it was with a voice so soft that Harry was sure he could feel the breath on the back of his neck. 

"Next time you ask Granger for help, I will be delighted to give you a detention."

Snape's voice was like a razor slicing through velvet, and as it slid through Harry's mind as shiver ran down his spine and ended somewhere between his legs. Gripping the desk slightly, Harry subconsciously held his breath. Snape seemed to linger for a moment longer than was necessary behind him, but Harry was sure it was just a figment of his own troublesome brain trying to make the situation worse. He waited until Snape finally moved away before letting out a shallow gasp. He could feel a sense of disappointment at the loss of Snape's presence, and tried to stop the trembling of his hands. 

Time slipped by and Harry was unsure as to which was worse: The torture of being constantly under Snape's gaze; or the lessening of the time that he could spend in Snape's presence. He ladled the greyish-pink potion into a crystal bottle and stoppered it, then set about clearing up his bench. As he wiped down the wooden surface, a familiarly unpleasant blond-haired boy pushed past his desk, knocking Harry's books all over the floor.

"Whoops," Draco said, grinning, "Sorry, Potter."

"Go screw yourself, Malfoy." Harry muttered in retaliation, careful to keep his voice quiet so that Snape wouldn't hear. Usually he wouldn't bother, but he didn't think that another confrontation, or a detention, with Snape would do him any good at all. 

Glaring after Draco, Harry knelt down to pick up his books.

Snape, now standing behind his desk, looked at the clock and noted it the end of the lesson. 

"You may leave." He said. "Hand in your potions on the front desk. Homework is an essay on the effects and uses of the Inoculus draught, at least three feet of parchment, to be handed in tomorrow. I suggest you make a more convincing attempt at this essay than the last one, or I shall be forced to inform the Headmaster that you are slightly worse at Potions than the Third Years." 

The class gratefully picked up their bags and shuffled out, leaving their bottles on the front bench.

Harry suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that he was now alone in the room with Snape, whose stare he could feel burning into his back. Standing up, grabbing his bag and placing his bottle on the front desk, he hurried out, flustered. His glance at Snape showed that the Potions master no longer cared whether he was there or not, and was ignoring him.

Dropping his books into his bag, Harry hurried after Hermione towards the great Hall for lunch. As he seated himself amid the friendly noise of the other Gryffindors, Harry realised that he would have to get a grip during Potions lessons. He was quite seriously worried that he might be going insane.

******

Severus felt in no mood to tolerate the idiotic chatter of the Great Hall and decided he would skip lunch. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and was annoyed when Harry Potter appeared in his thoughts. The boy was enough of a nuisance in class, did he have to plague Severus even in his private thoughts? Turning seventeen and taking NEWTs, Severus had thought, might have uncovered the brain cells from that hormone-addled mind, but it appeared not. If anything, Potter had become clumsier, more foolish, and more persistently irritating than ever this year.

Something at the back of Severus' mind whispered that there was a reason for the boy's clumsiness and embarrassment around him, but Severus ignored it. 

He had certainly noticed the way Potter always seemed tense and ill-at-ease whenever he was near, and the way the boy seemed to shake and tremble slightly if he spoke to him. Severus had tried to put this down to the success of his own biting sarcasm and the pathetic, if amusing and somewhat enjoyable, terror most students regarded him with. But he really could see no reason why a boy of seventeen, who had faced down Voldemort and won at least six times, would be scared of a teacher. Severus knew he was good, but he wasn't _that good. _

He had noticed Potter staring at him numerous times over the past few weeks and had always made a point of ignoring it, but today he had decided to conduct a little experiment. When he had caught the boy's gaze, he had stared back, watching with interest and Potter turned slowly redder and redder and seemed to stop breathing. Severus had eventually turned away, and was horrified to find that those emerald eyes were still on his mind an hour later. Why did the boy stare at him so reverently, with eyes so young but devoid of innocence? To call the owner of those eyes a 'boy' was inaccurate, because Potter had seen things no seventeen year-old should see, and was in no way, physically or mentally, a child any longer. Why did this… man-child… stare at him so bewitchingly?

Something on the floor caught Severus' attention and distracted him from his thoughts. One of the little fools had forgotten their book. The medium sized black, leather-bound Muggle notebook lay wedged under a desk. Unwilling to get to his feet, Severus pointed his wand lazily at the book.

"Accio notebook." He said, catching the book when it flew to his hand. 

There was no name on the cover and Severus supposed that, in the interests of finding out who it belonged to, he should open it and take a look inside.

On the first page, written in slightly messy black ink, were notes on the brewing of a Linrimia potion. Severus knew the handwriting instantly as that of Harry Potter. He smirked slightly to himself; how ironic. He realised this must be the book Potter scribbled in during his lessons, and, flicking through it, he saw that it contained notes on all of the subjects Harry took. Severus smirked again as he saw that Potter's Divination notes mostly consisted of a half-hearted attempt at intelligent notes, then declined into scrawled sentences such as 'no. of times Trelawney has predicted my death: 10. No. of times have died: 0'.

Then, flicking over another page, Severus froze. It was a drawing, a very good drawing, of himself. It seemed to have been drawn in class, and showed Severus writing something, his head lowered, a lock of hair falling in front of his face. It was delicately shaded to show exactly the tones of his face and was, Severus noted uncomfortably, rather more perfectly like him than he cared to admit. Whoever had drawn it, and Severus wasn't sure whether he liked the idea of it being Potter, had studied Severus' face and manner and had obviously spent a long time doing so, capturing the exact essence of what Severus could only describe as himself.

Who had drawn it? Surely not Potter. But, yes, the bottom of the page was neatly dated in Potter's handwriting as being drawn two months ago on 7th September. Flicking through the book, Severus saw that there were in all about twenty drawings and sketches of himself, all perfect, and all neatly dated from 7th September to yesterday, 8th November. Then, on the next page, was a half-finished drawing that must have been done that day, in the lesson that had just gone by. There was, however, something different about this drawing that made it stand out form the others. Flicking back, Severus saw that this was the only drawing in which he, the subject, was looking directly at the artist, his dark eyes glaring intensely out of the page. Only the face of the drawing was finished, the rest of it mere suggestions of pencil lines, but in the expression Severus could see exactly what he tried to put into his eyes when he glared at Potter; coldness, scorn, contempt. Seeing it drawn by Potter's own hand made Severus realise what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of one of those looks. 

Why had Potter drawn these pictures? Why of him? Severus got the uncomfortable feeling that Potter, after all the observation, knew exactly how he moved, exactly how he executed his movements. He had never felt understood, and he wasn't sure he liked it. No one ever cared about him enough to try and understand. Why Potter?

*****

That evening, Harry sat down to do his homework, and took his books, quill and ink out of his bag. Deciding that he would use this essay to show Snape that he was good at Potions when he put his mind to it, Harry looked for his notes on the Inoculus potion that he had written today in his notebook. The notebook wasn't in his bag. Then where was it?

Where had he had it last? Not in Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology. Which meant he'd left it in Potions. Fuck.

Panicking slightly, Harry ran through his options. He couldn't do his homework without his notes so he had to get the book back. Two things could have happened: Either it was still in the dungeons, or Snape had found it. Not particularly wanting to consider the latter, Harry chose to hope that it would be where he must have left it. There was only one thing to do. Telling Hermione he would be back in a while, he ran to his room, grabbed the invisibility cloak, and left the Common Room.

Hidden under the cloak, and watching out for Filch or Mrs Norris, Harry reached the Potions classroom and cautiously pushed open the door. He walked in quickly and shut the door softly behind him before bringing out his wand.

"Lumos." He murmured, and a beam of light fell from the tip of his wand. Directing the beam about the room, Harry looked round for the missing notebook. The beam fell across the front desk and Harry spotted, to his relief, the black bound book lying there.

Suddenly there was a slight noise as something knocked a vial off the desks in the room adjoining this classroom. Harry froze, still under the cloak, and waited, in a typically Gryffindor fashion, to see what was there, remembering at the last minute to mutter "Nox" to cut out the light shining from his wand. Slowly, a shadow which preceded the thing that was approaching flickered into the room, and Harry saw, to his horror that it appeared to be a large cat-like animal. He stood absolutely still and watched, trembling slightly, as a large black cat, not unlike a panther, appeared in the doorway. Its dark-eyed gaze scanned the room then came to rest on Harry, even though he was covered by the invisibility cloak. For a few tense moments in which Harry was sure the panther could see him and that it was about to pounce, neither he nor the big cat moved. Then, suddenly, it turned away from him and padded silently back into the room from whence it came. 

When Harry was sure it had gone, he grabbed the notebook and left, not caring if anyone could see him as he ran down the corridor back to the Gryffindor Tower. 

He muttered the password, ('Lederhosen', for reasons known only to the Fat Lady herself), and ducked through the hole into the warmth of the Common Room, shrugging off the cloak. 

He was immediately pounced one by Hermione and Ron. 

"Where have you been?" Hermione demanded, "It's NEWTs this year, Harry, you can't afford to go gallivanting round school and not doing homework."

"Oh, shut up, 'Mione." Ron said fondly. "But, yeah, where have you been? You look like you've walked through the Bloody Baron. And you missed a brilliant game of chess."

"Brilliant?" called Seamus, "Only cos you won!"

Ron grinned, "Well, yeah…" 

Harry tried to grin and failed miserably, feeling shaken from his encounter with a large, probably dangerous cat in the Potions classroom, "I had to go and get my notebook, I left it in the dungeons after Potions."

Hermione looked concernedly at him, "What happened? Did Professor Snape catch you? Ron's right, you do look terribly pale."

Harry was about to tell them about the panther, but then a little voice in his head said "Nothing, Peeves just made me jump. Gave me a bit of a shock," And Harry found that he'd actually said it as well. Why hadn't he just told them the truth?

Hermione looked seriously at the notebook clutched in his hands, "What do you write in there, Harry? You sit scribbling in it all the way through Potions. It's not a magical writing diary, is it? You know how dangerous they can be…"

"No," Harry assured her, "It's not a diary that writes back. It's just… it's where I write my notes. I've got to have something to learn from for the NEWTs, haven't I?"

This answer seemed to satisfy Hermione, and Harry was shocked to realise he'd lied to his best friends again. What was wrong with him? 

Hermione turned to Ron, "See, Ron. At least someone's taking the exams seriously."

Harry nodded, seeing his chance to escape. "In fact, I think I'll go and start studying now." He needed time to think alone.

"But it's only November!" Ron howled, "You've both gone insane!"

Harry turned to walk up to his room as Hermione berated Ron on not putting enough effort into his schoolwork.

Being a prefect, he had his own room and the top of the Tower and as he walked in he was met by the smell of the flowers Winky and Dobby insisted on leaving on the windowsill every morning. Sitting down on his bed, he flicked through his notebook, making sure none of the pages were missing or had been damaged. 

He saw that all of the pages seemed to be there and that none of his drawings seemed to have been disturbed. Relieved, he flicked to the final drawing, the one he hadn't had time to finish in class. He flipped the page over and saw that Snape was still glaring at him from the page, as he had been before.

Then, he noticed, someone had written something at the bottom of the page. 

The thoughts 'How dare they?' and 'Oh shit' ran through Harry's mind as he looked closer at the neat copperplate handwriting. In green ink, a single line had been written. A thrill ran through Harry as he read the words.

_It seems I have underestimated your attention to detail. Intriguing work._


	2. All Of Our Thoughts Are Misgiven

Chapter 2: Sometimes All Of Our Thoughts Are Misgiven 

Unable to sleep, his dreams full of dark eyes and pale skin, Harry had woken at dawn and gone down to the Hall for an early breakfast. To his disappointment and relief, Snape was absent from the staff table. Harry was able to eat his toast in welcome silence without being disturbed. 

When groups of first years began to trickle into the Hall he decided it was time to clear his head and stood up, intending to go for a quick circuit of the Quidditch pitch before lessons began. The cold November morning air was just what he needed to rid his head of the heated remembrances of his dreams. 

Heading out of the Hall, keeping to the shadows to avoid his classmates, Harry walked quickly down the corridors towards the main doors, slipping out and across the grounds towards the Quidditch pitch. Stopping only to grab a broomstick from the shed, having left his Firebolt in his room, he half walked, half ran onto the pitch, throwing his leg over the broom and kicking off the ground, soaring sharply into the air. The cold air rushed through his hair and wrapped itself around his body as he climbed and dived, twisting and turning through the air, and he felt himself slipping free of his mind, floating on the air as he danced alone in the sky. 

Unbeknownst to Harry, a tall, dark figure was making its way through the grounds as he soared overhead. Severus was walking with the same intent as Harry was flying; to clear his head. Only _he was trying to quash the images of tantalizingly knowledgeable emerald eyes. _

Pausing to gaze up at the grey, stony sky, Severus caught sight of a distant figure, twisting and turning in the air as the figure on the broomstick dove and looped. Squinting as the flyer came lower, he recognised it to be Potter, flying at alarming speed with, apparently, his eyes closed. Fascinated, Severus walked silently towards the Quidditch stands, watching Harry all the time. The expression of freedom, of exhilaration on the young man's face set something alight in Severus' mind. He knew that in watching he was intruding on a private moment, something that was not intended to be observed, but that knowledge just made it all the more wonderful to observe the graceful movements of the younger man. 

Away in the main building, an almost inaudible bell sounded, announcing the beginning of lessons, and Harry's eyes snapped open. Folding himself quickly into the darkness at the base of the stands, Severus watched Harry float down to rest on the grass, dismount, and run back to the broom shed. He ran towards the main building and Severus was left standing in the shadows, watching the retreating form, with very little on his mind except the face of Potter in the ecstasy of flight. 

******

The rest of the day passed with little interest to Harry. He sat through Divinations gazing at his crystal ball with glazed eyes, his thoughts elsewhere. Transfigurations passed with every second like an hour as Harry watched the clock and wished it was lunch, so he could return to his rooms alone and dream, or so that he could sit in the Hall and observe the man who plagued his waking and sleeping moments. Lunch, however, arrived and there was no sign once again of Snape in the Hall as he remained in his rooms, his own thoughts occupied elsewhere. Harry ate little, and spoke even less, and Hermione and Ron soon gave up trying to coax conversation out of him, presuming him to need some time alone. 

The afternoon, and Defence Against the Dark Arts, was a time normally looked forward to and enjoyed by Harry, but today it registered only to him as the time between lunch and dinner, when Snape might once again be seen. His distracted air had been noticed by all who sat around him, but they let it pass without comment. It was now accepted that Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, would sometimes behave oddly. 

With the advent of dinner came a flutter of excitement within. Surely Snape would have to turn up to this meal. Harry followed his friends into the Hall and sat, his eyes flickering towards the staff table as soon as he had a clear line of view. His heart dropped in disappointment as he realised that, to his consternation, Snape was once again absent. He sat in depressed silence, oblivious to the conversations around him, and saw the words from last night running through his mind again. _It seems I have underestimated your attention to detail, the note had said. _Intriguing work. __

So Snape wasn't angry about Harry's drawings. That in itself was unexpected. But if not anger, Harry had anticipated cold dismissal and disinterest from the Potions teacher. Instead, there had been no sarcastic put-down, but an (almost) positive comment, and more than a hint of interest. What did it mean? 

And what of what Harry had seen in Snape's rooms the previous night? Surely he should have gone to a teacher and told them, but he hadn't. He should have discussed it with Hermione and Ron, but he hadn't. He realised, to his confusion, that he had barely said three words to his friends since last night. He needed answers, and there was only one person who could, it seemed, supply them.

Then Harry made up his mind. If Snape was playing some sort of game with him, he might as well play along.

******

Later that evening, as Hermione and Ron sat together in one of the large armchairs in the Common Room, and Seamus and Dean played Exploding Snap to avoid doing their homework, Harry slipped out and, taking his invisibility cloak from his room, set off towards the dungeons. 

Walking through the empty corridors under the cover of his cloak, Harry reflected on the madness of his actions. What was he expecting from Snape? Did he hope for something other than a swift, biting rebuke and an even swifter dismissal? He knew it was foolish, and he knew it would get him nowhere, but he also knew he had to try. 

And he was there, outside the same door as he had been last night. Snape probably wouldn't even be in there, why would he be? He wasn't last night, so even if Harry did knock there wouldn't be anyone… Oh. 

"Enter." Came the icy command from behind the door as Harry's stomach did somersaults. He pushed open the door and saw the dark haired man sitting behind the desk, a pile of papers next to him, a quill twirling between his fingers. As Snape saw him in the doorway, the quill became stilled. "Potter." Snape said, his voice calm. "What a pleasant surprise."

"I, umm…" Harry stuttered, cursing himself once again for becoming tongue-tied around the older man. 

"Close the door, Potter, if you are coming in. There is an unpleasant draught in these dungeons."

Harry jumped slightly, becoming aware of the fact that he had been standing in the doorway. "Sorry." He closed the door behind him, and could not help but feel that he had just locked himself inside the lion's den. 

"I am busy, Potter. Make it quick." Snape said, indicating the chair opposite. Harry nodded and sat nervously. What was it he wanted to say? Now that he was here, he didn't quite know. Snape sighed. "I trust you retrieved your… notebook."

It was a statement rather than a question, but Harry found himself nodding anyway. "Yes, thank you, Professor." Damn him and his own politeness. This wasn't how the conversation was meant to be going.

Snape raised an eyebrow in a slightly amused manner and regarded Harry slowly, "There was something else, Mr Potter?" Harry once again said nothing and Snape leaned forward, eyes fixed on Harry's as he spoke again, "Something bothering you?"

Harry took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Last night, professor, when I came to get my book… there was… something here."

"Something?" Snape asked, amused. "With such descriptive powers, Potter, you should be working for the Daily Prophet."

Harry glared, "A cat. A big cat, like a panther. It was in here." 

Snape's expression changed immediately and became cold, stony. "You saw…" He seemed to mentally pull himself together. "And when you saw it, were you scared?"

Harry paused, then nodded. "A little, yes."

Snape stood and walked slowly round to Harry's side of the table, standing behind him and speaking slowly, dangerously. "Why did you come back? Perhaps you were the only one of your 'friends' foolish enough?"

"No!" said Harry, "I haven't told Ron and Hermione anything."

"Then you came of your own accord, even though you were scared, which says something of merit for your character." Harry said nothing, unsure as to what the correct response was. "And now you are here, have you found what you were looking for?"

Harry paused then shook his head. "No. I wanted to -"  

Snape, who had been observing Harry with narrowed eyes, suddenly interrupted, "You found your book undamaged. Last night?"

Harry nodded, bemused and irritated by Snape's twisting conversation. "Yes… everything was…"

"In that case, Potter," Snape said, his voice hardening once more, "you have no further reason to disturb me." He opened the door with a flick of his wand, "You may go."

"But-" Harry began, desperation in his voice as he realised he was thrown out without having gotten any answers.

"You may go." Snape repeated, more pointedly, standing and walking towards him, steering him towards the door. Then, standing directly behind Harry, he murmured, "Let us call this a test of your intent."

"What?" Harry asked, turning to face Snape.

The older man's face darkened. "I am giving you a chance to turn back, Potter, before you find yourself in above your depth. You should beware the questions you ask, in case the answers are more than you searched for. By tomorrow you will know, I hope, whether you wish to continue out discussion."

And with that, Snape closed the door, and Harry found himself alone in the corridor, confused and more than a little intrigued. This was dangerous dance, he knew, but it was a dance that tantalized and exhilarated, and he longed for more. He would return tomorrow.    


	3. Draw Me Down

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Lestat le Vampire, whose singing and constant bitching kept me awake all night, prompting me to (finally) write this. 

Chapter 3 – Draw Me Down

Harry slept badly that night, his dreams once again dark, and haunted by velvet murmurings. He woke long after the sun had risen and hurried to breakfast. Slipping quickly into his seat next to Ron and Hermione he allowed his gaze to rest briefly on the staff table, desirous of Snape's presence and yet afraid, lest he should embarrass himself under that cool gaze. Snape was there, taking a sip of coffee and resolutely ignoring Professor Flitwick, who was trying in vain to engage him in conversation. 

Jolted accidentally by Ron's elbow, Harry's eyes snapped back to his friends. He listened to Hermione detail the research she'd done for a piece of Transfigurations homework the night before, grateful for the distraction, but still keenly aware and watchful as Snape's black-robed figure swept out of the Hall. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" Hermione asked. "You seem awfully distracted. It's not your scar again, is it?" She added, lowering her voice. 

Harry shook his head, "No, I'm just tired. Didn't sleep well last night."

Ron snorted, "I know. You've got a squeaky spring in your mattress. Your fidgeting kept me awake all night."

Harry grimaced apologetically, "sorry."

"Doesn't matter," Ron grinned. "It was quite funny; you kept mumbling things to yourself."

Harry snapped to attention. "What was I saying?" If he'd been speaking aloud as he had in his dream, God knows what Ron must think.

"No need to get nervy, Harry." Ron said, looking at him oddly, startled at his friend's reaction. "It was all nonsense. Sounded like you were talking to someone. Anyway, it didn't really keep me awake for too long. I can catch up on my beauty sleep in detention tonight. I'm with Binns, he won't notice."

Hermione looked disapproving and Harry breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't revealed anything. Not that he was purposely hiding this from his friends.

"I still don't know how you managed to get a detention, "Hermione said, "You're a prefect, and it's virtually impossible for prefects to be given detentions. You're meant to set a good example to the rest of the school."

Ron rolled his eyes, "Oh, don't go on again, 'Mione, please…"

Harry let his friends bicker and followed them out of the Hall towards the dungeons and another Potions lesson, feeling oddly excited and apprehensive, though he had no idea how he'd react when Snape appeared.

Snape was, in fact, already in the room when they all filed in. He watched them walk through the door – a nod to Draco, and a glare at Parvati Patil, who tripped over the legs of a desk and almost sent a set of stacked textbooks flying – and when Harry entered, the boy couldn't help but look towards the dark-haired man, who now followed him to his desk with dark, hooded eyes. Harry felt their gaze upon him as he sat down and kept his eyes lowered.  

When the last sorry stragglers – Seamus and Dean – had arrived and had had five points deducted from Gryffindor each, Snape began to address the class.

"Today you will brew a Sleeping Draught, a potion considered necessary to the curriculum by the Ministry of Magic. It is, therefore, uninteresting in the extreme and so pathetically simple to brew that I expect all of you, even those of you who have yet to show any skill in Potion preparation, to receive acceptable marks." Here he looked pointedly at Seamus. Harry felt almost wounded that he had not been singled out for acknowledgement… Had he completely taken leave of his senses? Of course he didn't want to be humiliated in front of the rest of the class in that way. But if it meant Snape would look at him once more, speak to him again with that silken voice…

"However," Snape continued, "be warned. For all its simplicity, this potion has the potential to become somewhat… explosive if inattentively brewed. Injure yourselves or your fellow students and you will receive little sympathy and a detention." Snape glared malevolently at the class. "Do I make myself clear?" There was a silent nodded chorus of assent. "The instructions, although those of you who have read the textbook should have memorised them, are on the board. Begin."

Harry set about preparing the ingredients, taking his mandrake root and beginning to cut it carefully into equal and tiny slivers. He tried to concentrate on what he was doing, but the found his mind wandering around the room, tense, wondering where Snape was. Lifting his head in the pretence of checking instructions off the board, he saw out of the corner of his eye that the dark figure of the Potions master was peering into Blaise Zabini's cauldron and quietly giving her a few extra instructions. Disappointed yet relieved that Snape did not stand near him, Harry continued to chop the roots.

Next he began measuring a precise amount of powdered asphodel, tipping it cautiously into the small brass scaled that stood before him on the bench. Just a little bit more… He caught movement at one side of the room and saw that Snape had moved on to Hermione's cauldron and was inspecting her attempts at the draught. To his amazement, Harry realised that instead of the usual look of sneering disgust with which Snape viewed the Gryffindors' work, the look on Snape's face was currently one of respect, thinly veiled by a half-hearted curled lip. It was as though he knew Hermione was an exceptionally gifted student, but he felt obliged to disguise his respect for her, and was loathe to admit any such acknowledgement of her skill. Oh, bollocks, he'd tipped in too much asphodel. He began removing it from the scales one spatula-tip at a time and replacing it in the packet on the desk, this time paying careful attention to what he was doing. 

The lesson progressed with agonising slowness, and ten minutes before the end, Snape was one desk away from Harry's, which would be the last one he inspected. Harry began to quiver slightly in anticipation of their closer contact, and checked through the instructions on the board, knowing that this time he would impress Snape with his skill, having brewed the potion absolutely correctly. There was just one more ingredient to add – half a diced lavender stem. 

"Sir!" Draco Malfoy said, raising his hand lazily, "What exact shade of lilac is the potion supposed to be?"

Snape narrowed his eyes slightly, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to snap a sarcastic answer at the blonde boy, but then he seemed to calm himself and walked over to the cauldron, which stood behind Harry, answering the other boy.

"As it says on the board, Mr Malfoy, a pale lilac."

"Will this do, sir?" Draco asked simperingly.

"It is slightly nearer grey than lilac, but yes, it is satisfactory." Snape replied. Harry held his breath, waiting for him to walk over. But Snape had caught sight of Pansy Parkinson's cauldron and had turned to her, "Yours is too strong a purple, Miss Parkinson."

"What should I do, sir?" She asked in what she obviously thought was a sweet, charming manner. 

"An addition of more asphodel should improve the colour. Do not add more than a pinch, or -" 

The clock struck 11 and the single chime of a bell sounded, signalling the end of the lesson. Harry glared down at his cauldron, and his perfect, almost complete potion. He felt anger rise. If it hadn't been for Malfoy, Snape would have inspected his potion, and been impressed. Snape would have had the same look of respect on his face for him as he had for Hermione. That bastard Malfoy had once again ruined –

He was thrown off his feet as the now violently purple draught exploded from his cauldron. Landing painfully on the floor, he saw that the potion had evaporated quickly, leaving only purple fumes hanging in the air. His cauldron was a lump of mangled pewter, and the desk was severely charred. He felt a searing pain in his hand and looking down at it saw it had been burnt in the explosion. He realised to his dismay that, in his anger at Malfoy, he had let the whole lavender stem fall into the cauldron.  

"Mr Potter." Snape said quietly, menacingly, dangerously. "Am I to assume you added an entire lavender stem?"

Harry nodded miserably. Of all the stupid, foolish, idiotic things to do –

Snape seemed to pause for a second, then, "All of you, out. Get to your next lesson."

The others scrambled to gather their belongings and hurried out, Malfoy shooting a smug sneer at Harry as he remained sitting on the floor, Hermione lingering for a moment at the door before being pulled away by Ron, who threw him a last sympathetic glance. 

"Stand up." Snape snapped. Harry got to his feet as quickly as he could and stood, waiting for the tirade to begin. It didn't. Instead, in a mildly yet grimly amused voice, Snape spoke again: "Congratulations, Potter. You have destroyed a perfectly good cauldron and reduced one of my desks to charcoal. Mr Filch will not be pleased." Harry was surprised, but made no reply, judging correctly that Snape would have more to say. "Is there a particular reason for your idiocy?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I'd been doing fine until then, and I just dropped it in by mistake -"

"I am perfectly aware that you had brewed the draught with remarkable and uncharacteristic accuracy until that point. Just because I did not inspect your cauldron personally, it did not mean I was not taking note of your progress." Snape snapped. He lowered his voice and stared coldly at Harry, "The next time you feel you aren't getting enough attention from me, Potter, control your little jealous rages, or you may find your injuries to be far more severe than a slightly burnt hand."

Harry raised his head defiantly, annoyed. How dare he treat him like a child? But then he realised that was exactly how it appeared he had acted; like a spoilt child. He felt himself colour slightly. "I don't have jealous rages," he said, glaring at Snape, "and I didn't want any more attention from you. My hand slipped."

Snape's contemptuous gaze told him clearly that the man didn't believe a word of it. "Do not think, Potter, that because of our extra-curricula arrangements, you will receive any special treatment from me. You will be treated as any other member of the class, and simply because the Wizarding world once again believes you to be their Messiah, and in the eyes of the other teachers you are a saint, I will not change the way I teach you. Foolish heroics and dead parents have always been something for which you are renowned, but do not think it will earn you any praise from me."

Harry was momentarily speechless before he recovered himself and glared at Snape, unmasked hatred in his eyes. "How _dare you! I don't expect special treatment!" __Lies. "I didn't ask to be born who I am, I didn't ask to survive! I have never expected your praise!" _But God, I desire it, to impress you, I want it_. "And do __not bring my parents into it!"_

Snape looked a little taken aback at Harry's fury, but a small smirk found its way onto his features quickly. How intriguing that he could evoke such a force of emotion in the boy, that he could get such a reaction. Even more fascinating that he felt a little regret at having made such a hurtful comment.   
  


"I am sorry, there was no need to mention your parents. It was unnecessary." Snape conceded. Harry regarded him suspiciously, eyes still narrowed, wondering what Snape would say next, and cursing himself for the exhilaration that wound its way through his body at the thrill of such an intense interaction with the older man. "Do not think that any further displays of this nature will go unpunished. I am warning you, Potter."

Harry longed to tell him to get over himself, the great arrogant bastard. Instead, he kept quiet and simply tried to increase the intensity of his glare. Snape turned away and, with a wave of his wand, the mangled cauldron and charred desk slid to one side of the room, out of the way. 

"Now, Potter. Your hand." Snape said, turning back to him. Harry glanced down at his injured hand and realised how much it hurt. "_Delenare." He said, wand raised. Harry felt a small sensation in his skin, as though a cool balm had been spread over his burn. Raising his hand, he saw that the redness was receding and his blistered skin was becoming smooth. "_Infula_." Clean white bandages wound from Snape's wand and wrapped themselves around the reddened flesh. He swiftly lifted Harry's hand with cool, nimble fingers, and inspected the bandaged wound. Harry shivered slightly despite himself, and he knew that Snape had felt him do so. The older man dropped his hand as though scalded, and spoke rapidly, "It will heal quickly."_

Harry looked up at Snape, puzzled by the man's reaction. Snape had turned away, his hair falling over his face, hiding his expression. A small smile of wonder appeared on his face. Snape couldn't bear to touch his skin. Or was it that he didn't dare to? 

"You may go." Snape said, still turned away, moving a pile of papers from a drawer of his desk onto the table so that he could begin marking. Harry felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. He knew what he wanted to say. "There is something else you want, Potter?"

_You._ "I…"

"Spit it out, Potter." Snape looked at him, "You'll be late for your next lesson."

Harry raised an eyebrow, at which Snape did the same, an amused glint in his eye. "I'm already late. And it's only Divination, it doesn't matter." Snape's eyebrow moved higher. "I mean, I'm sure Professor Trelawney won't mind."

"Very well, get on with it."

"I need to talk to you. About my decision."

"You _need_ to talk to me?" Snape smirked, "Such enthusiasm is most refreshing."

"Sir…"

Snape waved a hand lazily, "Yes, yes. Alright. Detention, Potter."

Harry looked a little taken aback. "Detention!"

"You will serve a detention tonight with me in my private chambers. You will be assisting me in the preparation of a complicated potion which Madame Pomfrey needs in the Hospital Wing." 

"_Oh_, I see."

Snape raised an eyebrow once more. "Indeed."

"Umm… Can I ask one thing?"

"Spit it out."

"Your private chambers…?"

"They are in the dungeons, as you would expect. If you cannot find them, I'm sure one of the Slytherin ghosts would be delighted to show you the way." This was said in sarcasm and Harry shuddered inwardly at the prospect of having to ask the Bloody Baron for directions. "Is there anything else?"

Harry shook his head, "No."

"No…?" 

Harry glared, "No, _sir._"

"Very well, then." Snape propelled Harry towards the door. He reached from behind the boy and grasped the door handle, in effect trapping Harry between his body and the heavy wood. Lowering his voice to little above a murmur, he spoke into Harry's ear, setting nerves tingling along the boy's body. "I look forward to it." Lingering for a moment, his breath gently falling on Harry's trembling skin, he opened the door and gently pushed him out, as the boy's legs seemed to have momentarily stopped working. "Until then, Potter."

Harry watched the door close in front of him for the second time in as many days. He nodded. "Until then," he said faintly, even though Snape had gone. He could still feel the heat from Snape's hands on his back where he had been pushed out of the classroom. 

~~~~~

To be continued, hopefully with more rapidity than this chapter was written.


	4. Spider and the Fly

A/N: OotP was published between the writing of chapters 2 and 3 of this story. Thus, some of the details given in the first two chapters don't agree with what we now know to be canon. I'm rather loathe to take down the first to chapters in order to edit them, therefore please be lenient with me and turn a blind eye to inconsistencies between the first two chapters and new details that have come to light in OotP. Also, I'm now starting to make references to, and alter previously given details of this story so that it agrees with, OotP in this and further chapters. 

Thus, contrary to what may have been implied in earlier chapters, Harry is not a prefect, and does not have his own private bedroom. He still shares the dormitory with Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean. 

If you spot any other plot-holes or inconsistencies, please alert me via a review. Thank you for your understanding and patience. I am, after all (though I sometimes claim otherwise), only human.   

Chapter 4: Spider and the Fly

Harry didn't bother going to Divinations. Half the lesson, although he hadn't realised it, had been spent in the Potions classroom, arguing with Snape. Snape. Severus. The man's very name made Harry's heart quicken and beat unsteadily in his chest. What had passed between them a little while ago was, although acknowledged by neither of them, electric. There was tension there, passion, anger. They had both felt it when Snape's fingers had drifted across his, and when that cool voice had murmured to him before he was pushed from the room. They both courted danger – or was it just Harry who did so? – and Harry knew it. But he also knew that he had made his decision. Right or wrong, wisdom or foolishness, he had to have more.

Instead of following Ron to Divinations, therefore, he headed back to the Gryffindor Tower, walking quickly and silently through the empty corridors. He went over the earlier events repeatedly in his head, remembering and savouring every moment. It was perverse to enjoy, nay crave Snape so much. God, but he wanted the man so much it threatened to overwhelm him. Whatever he gave, Harry would accept, damn the consequences.

At lunch, Ron entered the Common Room breathlessly and red-faced, having run all the way from the North Tower. He found Harry brooding silently in an armchair, staring deep into the flames of the fire. 

"So this is where you've been! Snape didn't do anything too painful to you, then?" Ron asked, walking over to Harry. The dark-haired boy's gaze was still fixed deep in the flames, and Ron placed a hand gently on his shoulder to get his attention.

Harry jumped, startled, and turned to look up at Ron. "Oh, sorry, Ron. What did you say?"

"I said, 'Snape didn't do anything too painful to you, then?'" Ron repeated, sitting down opposite Harry as a gaggle of second years appeared noisily through the portrait hole. "We were worried when you didn't turn up for Divinations. Seamus reckoned Snape'd pickled you and put you in one of those jars he keeps in his store cupboard."

Harry shook his head, "No, it was fine. I have a detention tonight with him. I think I need a rest, I can't think straight with all this noise." He stood and walked over to the dormitory stairs, "If I'm not awake, don't get me up for Transfigurations."

Ron stared after him, "You have a detention with Snape and it's _fine_?" He spluttered. "You don't need a rest, mate, you need a straight jacket. And you know what 'Mione'll say about you missing lessons. And McGonagall… Harry!"

But Harry had already begun climbing the stairs to the dormitory. Entering the familiar room, he closed the door, threw himself down on the bed and closed his eyes. Too wired to sleep, but too exhausted by his own thoughts to go to lunch, he lay there listening to his breathing and tried to remember exactly how it had felt to have Snape so close to him, surrounding him. 

When Ron came up an hour later, Harry was asleep, a troubled frown on his face, as though he were deep in thought, or concentrating on his dreams. After a moment's hesitation, Ron backed out of the door, closing it quietly behind him. He hurried down the stairs to the Common Room, where Hermione was waiting for him. 

"Let him sleep, I don't think he's well." Ron said, voice lowered. Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Ron took her by the arm and steered her towards the portrait hole. "Come on, 'Mione, one lesson won't destroy his NEWT grades."

Hermione looked distinctly unconvinced and extremely disapproving, but let Ron lead her out.

"Anyway," said Ron, "he'll need to psyche himself up for detention with Snape tonight, poor sod."

"Detention!" Hermione exclaimed. "Oh, not him as well! Honestly, you two should know better! I mean, I know he's not a prefect, but he's still a sixth-year, and -"

"Yes, yes, yes." Ron said, vaguely, "I know, I know. _Setting an example for the rest of the school… Come on, we'll be late."_

They hurried away down the corridor, and left Harry alone with himself. 

The frown on the boy's face was deepening. He was standing in the Potions classroom, before the door. Snape was behind him, he felt their arms touch as the older man reached to grasp the handle. This time, however, neither of them spoke. The distance between them was decreasing. Snape was behind him, around him, pressed against his back. Harry tried to stop himself from moving back against Snape's chest and stood, trembling, waiting for the other man to move. He felt cool, gentle breath caress the side of his face, and a delightful tingling beneath his robes as two strong arms wound round his waist, pinning him to the body behind him. Snape bent his head slowly, excruciatingly slowly. Warm lips pressed to his throat, and a tongue flicked out to taste his skin – 

Harry's eyes snapped open and an orange ball of fur licked his face. He groaned and pushed the cat away, sitting up.

"Crookshanks… How did you get in here?" He muttered, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. "Have you been sleeping on Seamus' socks again?"

Rubbing his eyes he realised he needed a shower. Oh God, breath on his skin… Lips at his throat… Yes. A _cold shower._

Picking up a towel off the floor, he bent down to stroke Crookshanks, who was curled up on his bed. The cat raised his face and nuzzled his cheek, purring. "Dreams about Snape…" Harry murmured. "I need help."

Crookshanks simply purred and rolled onto his side. Harry sighed and walked into the bathroom. 

He remained in the Common Room throughout the afternoon, having decided that to turn up in the middle of a Transfigurations lesson pleading sleep as an excuse would only anger McGonagall even more. At least this way Ron would have told her he wasn't well and he would hopefully be left alone.

When Ron and Hermione returned to the Common Room, they found him huddled in the same armchair as Ron had found him in earlier, reading a book entitled 'NEWT Potions – A Further Explanation'. 

"Harry," said Hermione gently, "Are you feeling better?"

He looked up, startled, and slammed the book shut, trying to conceal it under the sleeves of the Weasley jumper he was wearing.

"You didn't miss anything," Ron said, flopping into the chair opposite. "Nothing interesting, anyway." He added, and Hermione frowned at him. He caught sight of Harry's book. "What are you reading that for?"

"Maybe," said Hermione pointedly, "_Harry's putting in some extra work to try and raise his Potions grade."_

Relieved and grateful for the simple way out, Harry nodded. "Yeah, after today I need to start doing things right, or I'll fail the NEWT." _I need to start showing Snape that I can do it, to prove myself. And I need to stop this compulsive lying to you, I'm sorry._

Ron grimaced, "Well don't try and recruit me to your little study group. I have better things to do with my time. Such as Quidditch practice. Which, may I remind you, Potter, you haven't come to for a week. We've got a big match against Slytherin coming up, we need you."

Harry sighed, "I know, I know. I'm sorry. But I'm only coaching you this year, remember. The team's doing well with you captaining them."

"We're fine in practices. We've got strategies and moves and we know them like the back of our hands. But when we're in a real match…"

Harry shook his head, "You know I'd come tonight if I could. But I've got this detention…"

Ron nodded glumly. "I know. I'll try and get Ginny to round everyone up. If you finish early enough with Snape, can you come down to the pitch?"

"I'll try, but I wouldn't hold your breath."

Hermione shook her head at them both, "Honestly. There are more important things in life than Quidditch." Ron looked outraged. "Dinner, for one. After we've been to the hall we can do our homework. And I'll help you with yours, Harry," she said, grudgingly. "I don't approve of you getting detentions left, right and centre, but you can't be expected to do two essays and see Professor Snape too."

Harry remembered why he loved Hermione so much, "Thanks, 'Mione."

"Come on, then." Ron said, his stomach grumbling loudly. "I need food."

After half-an-hour sitting in the Hall with his friends, listening to Ginny talk animatedly about her DADA lesson earlier that day, and picking unenthusiastically at his Shepherd's Pie, they finally departed for the Gryffindor Tower once more. Snape hadn't been at dinner. Did that mean he was sitting alone in his rooms? Harry imagined that brooding was a good look on the dark-eyed man. He could almost see him glowering into a fire, expression dark, ensconced in his black robes. What a delicious image…

Hermione got increasingly exasperated with Harry as his attention drifted during her helping him with his homework. In the end she gave up, telling him that if he was determined to neglect his work, she wasn't going to stop him. She went to feed Crookshanks some scraps she'd got from the kitchens, and Ron followed her. Harry didn't bother to ask when he'd be back. 

He checked his watch. It was late enough, wasn't it? Surely he could go now. He turned back to his Divinations textbook. Diagrams swam in front of him. Bollocks to this. 

He slammed down his quill and stood. As he walked out of the Common Room, Ginny called after him: "Harry! See you at practice?"

He didn't answer, and the portrait swung back into place behind him.

~~~~~

Harry walked along the dungeon corridor, mentally ticking off the doors. Potions classroom, terminally empty classroom (rumoured to be haunted), one of Filch's many store cupboards, forbidden door. Oh, forbidden door. Right at the end of the corridor, almost round the corner, hidden in shadows. 

Harry approached it fearfully. Should he knock? Of course he should knock. Was it even the right door? 

"Enter."

Harry jumped and looked round. How the hell did the bastard do that?

"I said 'Enter', Potter. Do get on with it."

Taking a deep breath, Harry reached out a hand to open the door. It swung open before him without him even touching the wood, and Snape stood there.

"Here for my detention." Harry said, stupidly.

"Indeed." Snape said, stepping aside. Harry entered and Snape closed the door behind him. _'Come into my parlour,' said the spider to the fly._

Harry realised that he had never contemplated what Snape's rooms could have looked like. His own visions merely specified that there should be a fire burning in a grate, which there was, and sufficient darkness to allow impressive shadows to leap across the walls. This, there also was. 

Apart from that, this room was almost exactly what Harry would have, if he had taken the time to do so, imagined Snape to occupy. It was sparsely furnished – a writing desk, two lab benches, an impressive cauldron, and two uncomfortable looking wooden chairs. In addition to that there were shelves lining the walls, on which stood what Harry imagined to be different ingredients, all labelled neatly. Some of the jars held things which appeared to blink and squirm unpleasantly. The only light was that of the fire, which Harry suppose must be enchanted, as the flames were silent and slightly green in colour, and candles which stood in wall-casings around the room. 

Snape strode over to the cauldron, which bubbled angrily. He regarded its contents for a moment. "Wolfsbane," he said, suddenly, making Harry jump. "I still brew it for Lupin." 

Unsure of how to reply, Harry nodded. Snape continued gazing into the smoking cauldron, and there was silence except for the occasional hiss as it bubbled then subsided. "Professor -"

Snape's eyes snapped upwards and he stared at Harry unnervingly for a moment. "Sit, Potter."

Harry looked round and, guessing Snape meant the wooden chair next to the desk, seated himself. His back now to the man, he felt the familiar prickling in his skin. How he loved this feeling, this utter uncertainty – to be at the mercy of Snape was such a perversely wonderful thing.     

"Is your hand recovered?" Snape said from directly behind him, startling the boy.

"Yes, it doesn't hurt any more." Harry replied.

"I trust you have removed the bandages?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I didn't know whether I should."

"Madame Pomfrey would be most unimpressed. To leave on a bandage after the wound is healed will only do the skin more damage. You must give the wound air, or it will never heal. That, Potter, is such simple medicine that even Muggles have grasped it." Snape walked round the desk and sat down opposite Harry, raising his wand. "_Abesse_." The bandages fell away and crumbled into dust. 

"Thank you." Harry said. 

Snape looked unimpressed by Harry's gratitude. He regarded the boy thoughtfully, with eyes narrowed, for a moment. "In telling you what I will tell you tonight, I am taking a great risk. Not only to my own personal career, but also to my continued safety, and indeed yours. You must swear an oath that not one word will be repeated outside of these rooms. Should you break this oath, all contact between us will be ended, along with my career, and with further reaching, more terrible consequences."

Harry was silent, taken aback. "I won't swear to anything without an explanation." He said finally. He wasn't a fool – no one in their right minds would make such a contract with Snape without knowing what they were getting themselves into. _You know you'll say yes regardless._

"Very sensible, Potter." Snape said, matter-of-factly. "I have no option but to be honest with you. I am proposing to tutor you." He caught the look on Harry's face, "Not in your NEWT subjects. I hate to destroy your faith in the Ministry -" A small smirk, "- but they had little intention when devising the NEWT curriculum of providing students with the skills necessary to function usefully in daily life. Neither do I mean to begin once more with the folly of instructing you in the art of Occlumency."

"But -"

Snape continued, ignoring Harry's interjection. "For the past six years, without fail, you have battled with Lord Voldemort. You have survived through luck, sheer foolishness, and the sacrifice of others. Although I hate to admit it, you are, in all likelihood, the only one of us with the potential for power far greater than his." He held up his hand to prevent Harry's interruption. "You must learn to harness this power and, though Dumbledore refuses to acknowledge it, there is only one way in which this can be done. These methods are… somewhat frowned-upon by the Ministry, and even by most members of staff. I am prepared to go against their wishes in order to prepare you for the defeat of Lord Voldemort."

Harry asked the foremost of the many questions which swam murkily in his mind, "How?"

"What I am asking of you is utter dedication. The arts I will be teaching you are ancient magics, and to harness their power you must commit yourself to them. You will require regular lessons, practical studies, and extra hours spent learning the theories and histories of magic. I do not deny that it will be a gruelling ordeal. But I believe it is worth it."

"What about my normal lessons?" Harry asked.

"Your extra tutoring would take place out of school hours – mainly evenings and weekends. There would have to be some sacrifices. Quidditch practices being one."

Harry sat in silence for a few moments. Giving up Quidditch training? Spending all his free time studying? "Why should I?" He asked. "How will it help me?"

"It is far too complicated to explain to you now. Let me assure you, however, that to fulfil your magical potential, if you were able to master your powers, would be well worth the sacrifice."

Harry looked across the table to the dark-haired man who sat opposite him. Obsidian eyes met his and he knew he would agree. 

Don't say it, don't do it. How can you trust him? He's a Death Eater; he'll involve you in the Dark Arts. Say no, and go back to the Common Room. You've survived this long, you don't need this, and you don't need _him_.

He nodded, and his voice sounded strangely hoarse when he spoke, "I'll do it."

"I cannot communicate how difficult this will be," Snape said. "Once you begin you cannot admit defeat and give up."

"I wouldn't." Harry said, stubbornly. "I'll do it."

Snape regarded him for a second, then stood abruptly and walked over to the cauldron, which had now ceased bubbling, and gave off a dark blue smoke. Harry turned in his chair to watch the man. In the flickering light of the fire the man's expression was troubled, as though he were arguing deep within himself. Finally, he spoke.

"I must warn you, Potter. The magics I speak of are not the docile, malleable charms and enchantments you have learned here at Hogwarts. I speak of primitive magics, of the earth, the very elements. Though they are not Dark Arts, they will try to control you and draw you further into themselves. I speak of the magic of Shadows. You must be prepared for that."   

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice enough to speak. My God, what the hell are you getting yourself into?

"Watch the Wolfsbane." Snape instructed suddenly. "If it begins to bubble, extinguish the flames."

Harry stood a little shakily, confused by Snape's twisting conversation, which carried him off on tangents, so that he didn't quite know where they were in the course of the discussion. He walked over to the cauldron and stood, feeling a little foolish, eyes fixed on the greyish potion, which still gave out noxious-looking smoke. Snape had turned away and when, a few minutes later, he turned back, he held a neatly labelled flask. 

As he did so, Harry caught sight out of the corner of his eye of a small fly, which hovered in the air a little to the right of the wisps of blue smoke. He became aware that Snape had seen it too, and watched as it buzzed towards the tendrils of smoke. Slowly, as though it was being pulled deeper, it gravitated towards the centre of the fumes, circling lower and lower, until it seemed it would be engulfed by the greyness of the potion. Snape's hand shot out and crushed the fly between forefinger and thumb before it fell into the Wolfsbane. 

"I can give you things you've only ever seen in your dreams, take you to places you never knew existed." Snape murmured.

Harry's eyes were still fixed on Snape's fingers, which had so easily crushed the fly, drawn down into its suicidal spiral towards death. He fought to keep his voice steady as he spoke once more. "I want -"

"What? Tell me what you want."

Harry swallowed and raised his eyes to Snape's, glittering darkly at him through the fumes. "I want it all."


	5. Quite the Talented Artist

A/N: The dedication of this story has been restored to Squiggsy, after she and Lestat le Vampire had a bitch fight over who got to be my faithful Muse. 

I'd like to say thank you to all you lovely, lovely people who have reviewed. Such wonderful, considerate, copious amounts of feedback does wonders for my ego. 

Chapter 5: Quite the Talented Artist

Harry approached the portrait hole, apparently deep in thought. He stopped before the portrait hole and leant against the wall, closing his eyes and realising how little sleep he'd had recently. 

"Ehem." The Fat Lady cleared her throat. "It's past midnight, you know."

"Sorry, I've been in detention." Harry answered her, absentmindedly.

She looked at him disapprovingly, "Hmm. Well, hurry up."

Harry looked at her, puzzled. "What?"

"Password, password." She said impatiently. 

"Oh, sorry… Lederhosen."

The Fat Lady sniffed disdainfully at him as the portrait swung open and he climbed through. 

He strode towards the stairs, making for the dormitory, then realised that he didn't want to wake the others. After the surreal hours he had spent with Snape he really didn't feel up to answering Ron's questions and making up stories about his 'detention'. He needed time to think. Sitting down in what was becoming his usual armchair, he pulled his cloak over himself and stared into the embers of the now extinguished fire. In the dungeons, Snape did the same.

Harry was woken the next morning by Ron and Hermione, who were leaving on their way down to breakfast. 

"I don't really feel like eating anything." Harry said. "You go. I'll see you at DADA."

Hermione frowned worriedly and sat down next to him. "Harry, are you sure you're alright? You've hardly eaten anything for days."

"Yes I have, I -" Harry paused. He realised he hadn't eaten since dinner, two days earlier. 

"Exactly. You certainly didn't have any of that Shepherd's Pie last night. If you don't want to tell us what's wrong, you still need to eat."

Harry shook his head, "I can't face breakfast. I'll have something at lunch, I promise."

Hermione looked for a moment as if she was about to drag him physically down to the Hall. "Alright." She said, grudgingly. "As long as you do."

Harry nodded. "I will. Go on, you two go. You'll be late for lessons otherwise."

With a last glance in his direction, Hermione followed Ron out of the door. Harry knew he should be grateful for having friends who cared so much about him, but sometimes he wished they'd leave him alone. 

Another three days and one Potions lesson passed before Snape told Harry to see him afterwards. Standing at the front, watching everyone file out, he tried to look angry or sorry for himself, when inside he was dancing in anticipation of the scheduling of his first private lesson with Snape.

"You will come to my rooms, as before, tonight at 8 o'clock." Snape said. "I trust you have kept our arrangements secret." Harry nodded. "I will see you tonight then, Potter."

"What should I tell Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked. "They might notice if I'm not in the Common Room."

"What you choose to tell your friends is none of my concern." Snape replied, disinterestedly. "Although something along the lines of your receiving extra tutoring to raise the standard of your abysmal Potions work would be eminently plausible to anyone who has seen you in my lessons."

Harry glared at Snape. "Thank you, _sir."_

Snape raised an amused eyebrow. "You're welcome, Potter. Now, please leave. I have your classmates' pitiful attempts at homework to mark before this evening." 

Harry threw a last glare at Snape, and then walked out, closing the door behind him. 

That evening, whilst supposedly doing his homework, Harry sighed and looked over the top of his DADA textbook at Ron teaching Hermione how to play chess _again_, and felt a certain amount of guilt. He should tell them about his lessons with Snape, ask them what they thought, get their advice, and listen to Ron vowing that Snape was evil incarnate, and Hermione shushing Ron and telling Harry which books would make everything better. What had changed?

_I've _changed.

Sighing to himself, Harry stood up and climbed the stairs to the dormitory. Lifting his invisibility cloak out of his trunk, he realised that this year he'd not yet needed to use it. Over-cautious it might be, but Harry didn't fancy getting stopped by Ron and having to explain that he was sneaking off to see Snape because he found said Potions teacher indescribably and inexplicably _sexy_ and thought he might die if he didn't hear that voice murmuring to him again.

At the top of the dormitory stairs he threw the cloak over his shoulders and headed back down into the Common Room, which was thankfully less busy than usual, thanks to a mass detention of the Third Years for blowing up Professor McGonagall's chair in Transfigurations. Treading softly, Harry made sure no one was looking in his direction, and then slipped out of the portrait hole. He ignored the Fat Lady's indignant protests and walked away down the corridor, determined that this time he would get some answers from Snape, and trembling with curiosity and anticipation of the first lesson.

~~~~~

"Come in, Potter," came the command.

Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and shrugged off the cloak, jumping slightly when the hand of a gargoyle which was set into the stone beside the door snatched it from him and held it in the manner of a coat rack. He looked at Snape questioningly. "How do you do that?" He asked. "Know I'm there, I mean."

Snape indicated a smoky mirror above the door frame without looking up from the papers he was marking. "A modified Foe-Glass. I find it gives me the upper hand… a certain element of surprise…"

Harry looked oddly at Snape's bowed head and wondered why he was voluntarily spending time alone with this man. Then Snape looked up and regarded him with those dark eyes, and he remembered. 

"I have marked your work." Snape said, setting down his quill. "Congratulations, you are well on the way towards a 'Poor' grade in your Potions NEWT." Harry groaned inwardly. Snape smirked, "Perhaps I should make a note that this _does _Exceed Expectations?"  

"There's no need for that, _sir. At least if I get a 'Dreadful', I won't be disappointing anybody." Harry snapped. Snape looked taken aback for a second. Harry realised what he'd said and cursed himself._

But Snape looked vaguely amused. Was Snape _pleased? "Touché, Mr. Potter." He stood up and placed the papers he had been marking on a shelf. "Sit down."_

Harry pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the desk and seated himself, glancing up at Snape. "Professor -"

"You have told Weasley and Granger?" Snape asked.

Harry shook his head, "No. I used the cloak, so nobody saw me leave. They probably won't realise I'm gone." He added, a little bitterly. 

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Discord in paradise?" He said, smirking. 

Harry glared at him. "No." He was not about to start bitching about Ron and Hermione's relationship to Snape, of all people. 

Snape smirked at Harry maliciously for a moment. Then he became serious once more, and Harry felt that those obsidian eyes were somehow searching his soul. "You are absolutely certain that you wish to undertake these lessons?" 

Harry swallowed and nodded. "Yes." He _was absolutely certain, of course he was. It was just – "But I would like to know, sir…" _

"You need an explanation." Snape said, cutting Harry off and understanding what he was trying to ask. "Which I will give you. From the beginning." He sat down once more and was silent for a moment. "When he was at school, Tom Riddle was considered by many of his teachers to be an exceptional pupil, but none of them knew the true extent of his abilities. He inherited certain abilities down the female line from Salazar Slytherin. He is able to use raw, ancient magic, and it gives him unimaginable power. There is no word for what he was… is. There have only been three others like him in documented history; Salazar, Godric Gryffindor, and Tom Riddle's great-grandmother. 

"When the curse that should have killed you was cast, for inexplicable reasons, there was an exchange between your infant form and that of Lord Voldemort. It was as though there was a momentary link between the two of you. When you were brought to Professor Dumbledore, he could only guess what had occurred. By the time you came to Hogwarts, however, your power had manifested itself, without your knowledge, in a number of ways. Your ability to avoid danger, the disappearance and movement of certain objects without your conscious effort…"

Harry frowned, "So I got something from Voldemort when he tried to kill me. I look like him, and I can speak Parseltongue…"

"The powers I speak of are not trivial linguistic skills, or a matter of appearance." Snape said sharply. He leaned forward and spoke softly, "You have the potential to become as powerful a wizard as Lord Voldemort. You are the memory of Godric Gryffindor made flesh. And you can use these powers for such a great and terrible good that you would possess the sheer magical power to defeat Lord Voldemort. Have you never given thought to why he pursues you as he does?" Snape hissed. "It is not merely a matter of petty revenge. He knows what you can accomplish, and he is _afraid_."

Harry was stunned into silence. Somewhere, his mind registered that what Snape said made sense. It all made sense. But – "Professor Dumbledore _knew_?"

Snape nodded. "There were some of us who thought it was foolish to leave you ignorant of your… abilities. But Dumbledore insisted that it would be detrimental to your happiness." He sneered, showing his obvious scorn of such things.

"He kept this from me." Harry said. "He didn't think I needed to _know_?" 

"It was in your best interests, in his opinion, to be oblivious to this until such a time that you should be told…"

"My _best interests_?" Harry repeated angrily. "I've faced Voldemort every single year I've been at this school and he didn't think I should know that I might have a chance of defeating him? I'm sick and tired of being told what I'm ready to know! How many more secrets are there?" He turned his angry glare on Snape, "And why are you telling me now if Dumbledore doesn't want me to know?"

Snape stared right back, not breaking Harry's gaze. "I do not break Professor Dumbledore's confidence lightly. But six and a half years in which you could have been trained to harness these powers have been lost. We can afford to wait no longer." 

Something in Harry knew that he should be wary. Dumbledore had his reasons for keeping this from him. Why should he trust Snape? But he was angry. He was sick and fucking tired of being treated like a child. 

Snape had been watching Harry, and saw the anger and defiance in the boy's face. He leaned forward, "Are you willing to undergo the necessary training?"

Harry didn't answer. "If there have only ever been four other people with these abilities, how do you know enough to train me?" He asked.

"My family have… certain ties to the family of Riddle's mother. I spent my youth surrounded by stories of his, and his great-grandmother's powers. I have read enough books on the subject to understand a little – enough to guide you into harnessing your potential."

Harry was vaguely surprised at such a close connection between Snape and Riddle. He'd always supposed that Snape was a Death Eater by default, being a Slytherin… but Snape's explanation made it sound like they were closer, almost as if they were family… "But, why?" He asked, "Why do you want to help me?" 

Snape's expression became suddenly closed, and Harry knew the answer he received was not entirely the truth. "I want more than anything to see Riddle destroyed, and I believe this may be the only way of accomplishing it."

"Then why doesn't Dumbledore want me to learn, if it'll help me against Voldemort?"

"Albus is of the opinion that you are still a child. He is under the impression that you are too young to cope with such knowledge, or such power."

"But you don't think that?" Harry ventured.

Snape fixed him with a sharp stare. "You have seen more terrible things in six years than anyone should be cursed with in a lifetime. You have been forced to abandon your childhood. I have watched you in battle, and I believe that to keep this knowledge from you is an insult to both your intelligence and your apparent resilience. To have you remain ignorant of your powers -"

"You keep talking about these 'powers'," Harry interrupted, "but I don't know what you mean. I don't have any special powers. I'm not especially good at Charms, or Transfigurations, and you said yourself I'm hopeless at Potions."

Snape took a piece of parchment out of the top drawer of his desk and picked up his quill. He wrote two lines quickly and signed it, then handed it to Harry. 

_Harry Potter has permission to use any book from the Restricted _

_Section to aid him in his studies, until the end of this term._

_Prof. Severus Snape._

"I told you when you last came to me that the magic I speak of is not the simple magic you have yet been taught." Snape said. "There are many books on the subject in the library, specifically in the Restricted Section. I suggest you read them."

Snape stood and indicated that Harry should do the same. He strode over to the gargoyle and held out his hand to take Harry's cloak. "Hand it over, Balthazar." He said to the ugly stone creature, and the cloak was dropped into his hand with a petulant glare from the gargoyle. He turned back to Harry.

"You have a Potions lesson three times a week. On these days you will come to this room at 8 o'clock. I will see you in three days' time, by which time I expect you to have gone to the library and read the books I have suggested. They will help you to understand." Snape said. "And no matter how persistent the woman's badgering is, do not tell Madame Pince what you are looking for." 

Harry had moved closer, and Snape suddenly stepped behind him. Harry tensed and waited, wondering what Snape was going to do. He felt something slip around him and realised that Snape had placed his cloak around his shoulders. He felt those hands slipping down his arms, smoothing out the silver material as he disappeared from view. He had been waiting for this touch, for this contact since he had entered the classroom, and tried not to lean into what could almost become a caress. Snape was right behind him, and when he spoke, his cool breath fell across Harry's skin.

"I wonder, Potter, have you finished that fascinating drawing?" He breathed into Harry's ear. Trembling slightly, Harry shook his head, trying not to let his eyes flutter closed. "It would be intriguing to see the finished picture…" He let his hands come to rest at Harry's wrists, and the boy could feel his quickening pulse beat against Snape's fingertips through the silver material of the cloak. "Quite the talented artist…" He murmured, and Harry was sure that for a moment he felt Snape's lips brush against his skin. 

Snape drew the cloak over Harry's head, and opened the door into the corridor, gently pushing him out. When Harry turned back, the door was already closed. 


	6. Something New Every Day

A/N: Apologies for the obscene amount of time it's taken me to write this chapter. The next one will, I promise, be more forthcoming. 

For my absent Muse, who will have to wait a little longer, I'm afraid, before there's any rampant sex.

She does get a little Egyptian mythology here, though, so she should be grateful for that, at least. 

Chapter 6: Something New Every Day

Harry hurried down the staircase to the entrance hall, hoping he'd got up early enough to avoid meeting anyone else. He'd woken at 6:30, and had a quick shower before grabbing his Firebolt and leaving the dormitory as quietly as possible so as not to wake Ron and the others. Now, as he headed out of the doors into the grounds, he knew exactly how he'd spend his day. It was, thankfully, Saturday – although quite how the week had passed so quickly, Harry wasn't sure – and he didn't have to attend any lessons. He was currently heading over to the Quidditch stands. Having missed the last five training sessions, for which he knew Ron would have his blood, he wanted to be able to fly, alone, and at this time in the morning there was guaranteed to be no one in the stands.

He was about to walk into changing rooms when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Folding himself into the shadows under the stands, Harry watched as a dark figure walked out of the Forbidden Forest, something hanging limply in its hands. Squinting, Harry realised it was Snape, carrying some sort of plants. He supposed it made sense – Snape must need to re-stock on ingredients occasionally, and why would he go the Hogsmeade to buy them, when they could be found in the Hogwarts grounds. Remaining hidden in the darkness, Harry watched Snape as he paused by a large grey-leafed bush and produced a silver bladed knife, cutting shoots off the tips of the branches. The early morning light glinted on the blade and Harry realised, to his surprise, that Snape was not wearing his usual high-collared robes. The ones he wore were similarly black and heavy, but they hung open at the neck, loose of collar and sleeve. Harry was shocked as he realised that Snape couldn't dress in his formal robes _all the time… in private, whilst sleeping… whilst showering… Blushing and thankful that no one was around to see it, Harry ducked into the changing rooms. _

He knew there wasn't really any point in changing into his Quidditch robes, but he realised it might be the last time for a while that he got to wear them, so he slipped them on over his jeans and t-shirt.

Picking up the Firebolt, he strode out of the doors onto the pitch. He sighed, breathing in the clear air. Here, he was complete. Kicking off the ground, he soared into the air like the cork from a champagne bottle. This was something that he would never give up, not even for Snape. 

Climbing steadily, Harry looked down and surveyed the Hogwarts grounds, looking out over the Forest to the sunrise. He glanced down and judged the distance between himself and the ground, then lifted his head and closed his eyes. He tightened his grip on the broom and plunged downwards, rocketing towards the ground, gathering speed, with the wind whipping his robes and hair. He was falling, flying, exhilarated. This was what living was for. 

Nearing the ground, he pulled up slightly, opening his eyes and preparing to soar away towards the skies. As his toes skimmed the grass, he looked up and nearly fell of the broom. A pair a black eyes glittered at him out of the shadows beneath the stands, watching him.

Harry let the broom continue to rise and turned in the air, slowing down. He looked down quickly, searching the darkness, but Snape had gone.

Floating back down to earth, Harry dismounted. Flying didn't seem to have cleared his head at all. He strode towards the changing rooms, frowning, and realised he was incredibly hungry, not having eaten a proper meal for days. 

As he walked into the Hall, he was surprised to find it almost full, even though it was 7:45 on a Saturday morning. Slipping into his seat beside Hermione, he glanced round.

"How come you're up so early?" He asked.

Ron looked up, "It's the last Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas, remember. We're going to buy presents." His face fell at Harry's blank expression. "We agreed a month ago we'd go together today and get all our shopping done."

Harry sighed inwardly, "Sorry, Ron. I forgot." For some reason, Christmas shopping in Hogsmeade seemed trivial and childish. He, after all, had more important things to do. "I can't go today. I've got loads of work to do."

"But we've only got three weeks until Christmas!" Hermione exclaimed. "And besides, we haven't got much homework this weekend."

"And what could be more important than coming to Hogsmeade with me and 'Mione?" Ron added, only half joking.

"Snape gave me some work to do after that detention." Harry said evasively. "Why don't you two go without me."

Ron looked hurt, "But we agreed we'd go today, all three of us."

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry said, a little exasperated. "But I have to get this work done."

"But when are you going to buy your presents?" Hermione asked.

"I'm here all holiday," Harry said, "You know how long the holidays are - I'll have three weeks after school finishes to get everything. Really, you two go." He swallowed the bit of his toast and stood up. "I've got to get to the library. I'll see you when you get back."

"But -" Ron began, but Harry was already half way across the Hall, leaving his friends looking after his disappearing form, confused and rather hurt.

Harry ran up to the dormitory and grabbed his notebook and quills, and set off again for the library. Ron and Hermione would have fun without him. The two of them were so cosy these days he sometimes wondered why they wanted him to go anywhere with them, anyway. 

Reaching the library, he pulled the crumpled note from his pocket and walked through the doors. Madame Pince narrowed her eyes at him as he approached and handed her the piece of paper. She read it and peered up at him suspiciously. She seemed to be trying to find evidence that it was a forgery. "Why do you need to use the restricted section?" She asked. 

"I'm doing an assignment for Professor Snape." He remembered Snape's words from the previous night. "I'm sure I'll find what I'm looking for."

"Hmm…" She, disapproval showing clearly in her tone. "Very well. But damage any of the books and you'll be very, very sorry, Potter."

Harry nodded and wondered why he'd never seen the similarity between Pince and Snape before. He turned away and walked towards the restricted section. Finding a table, he put down his book and quills. What exactly _was_ he looking for?

Scanning the shelves, Harry walked around the restricted section, looking for titles which might be useful. Most were decidedly not what he was looking for, with names like _Demonic Summoning and Direction_. A good number were also, Harry noticed, written in Latin or what appeared to be Greek. 

Suddenly, Harry spotted a leather bound volume on a shelf near the floor entitled _Invocation of the Shadows – the Art of Slytherin_. What had Snape mentioned… 'the Magic of Shadows'? Kneeling, Harry pulled out the book, which was heavier than he'd expected, and walked with it back to his table. Opening it, he blew a thick layer of dust off the first page, which read like a contents page, and skimmed down the list of chapters. The headings meant nothing to him, so he decided that the best place to start would be the beginning. Turning the page, he began to read.

_Nut, Mother of the sky and stars, Goddess of the night sky, commands the power of the world. Geb, Father of the mountains and plains, God of the Earth, commands the power of the world. Shu, begot of Ra, God of the sunlight, commands the power of the air. Nun, who begat Ra, God of the waters of chaos, commands the power of water. Ra, father of life, God of the Sun, commands the power of fire. Isis, daughter of Sky and World, Goddess of destiny, commands the power of earth.   _

Harry re-read the passage twice, but it made no sense to him, and his head was starting to hurt. He supposed that there must be a book somewhere in the library which would tell him exactly who or what these Gods were, but he would press on with this one before he found even more books to confuse himself with. Turning back to the index, he looked down the headings again. At the bottom of this list, a chapter had been added, in a different handwriting: _Account of Christabelle Dolohov._ This looked more promising. Harry turned the pages quickly and came across the chapter, which was written in the same precise handwriting, onto pages which had been added into the book.

_In this year 1842, I, Christabelle Dolohov, hereby lay down an account of my experiences with the Shadows, to be left as a legacy to those blessed with such powers as I have been. I am the third of my kind, the first being Godric Gryffindor, the second being Salazar Slytherin, of whose family I am the last, and of whose inheritance these powers seem to be some part of, along with the gift of Parseltongue.    _

Harry was now very interested. If this woman was the descendant of Salazar, and she was the 'third of her kind', she must be Tom Riddle's great-grandmother whom Snape had mentioned. He did a quick calculation – she had written this 155 years ago. It looked like it was to be the nearest thing to a modern account that Harry would find.

_I am the sole member of my generation in which these powers manifest themselves. My sisters, Mirabelle and Rosaline, died young, before any sign of their abilities had been manifest, and my half-brother, Aeneas Snape, is of my mother's family, and therefore not of Salazar Slytherin's ancestry.   _

Harry froze. Aeneas _Snape. Snape had mentioned ties between their two families, but… Snape was _related_ to Voldemort._

Jumping up, Harry hurried to the shelves again. He knew he'd seen a book somewhere whilst he was looking… Here. _Lineages of Slytherin. He took the huge tome back to the table and flicked through. It was full of family trees, which reminded him of the tapestry which had once hung in 12 Grimmauld Place. The trees started in some cases before the Roman conquest, and Harry had to turn to the very back to find what he was looking for. Harry realised that the book was continually being written, dates and names added to the family trees even as he looked down the pages. He found the pages entitled 'Dolohov' and thumbed down the columns, finding what he was looking for at the bottom of the huge page. _

Christabelle Dolohov (b.1820, d.1866), married to Nicholas Dolohov (b.1814, d.1872), and sister of Aeneas Snape (b.1815, d.1868). 

He followed the lines downwards. A daughter, Anastasja, whose daughter Marilena had a son, Tom.

Flicking back a few pages, he found the tree entitled 'Snape' and located Aeneas Snape. A son, Dimitri, who had a son, Alexander, whose son Septimus had a daughter and two sons – Elysia, Castor, and Severus. Here, the line stopped. 

Harry sat back in his chair, looking at the pages before him. 

Flicking back through the pages of his notebook, Harry came to the page which held his last, unfinished drawing of Snape. Staring into those eyes, Harry repeated to himself that this man, this Snape, shared blood with Voldmort. He picked up his pen and started to draw absentmindedly, black hair beginning to spill over this Snape's shoulders.

Some hours later, Madame Pince cleared her throat behind him and Harry jumped, snapping the notebook shut. She was too far away to have seen what he was doing, and he hurriedly closed the other books around him.

"It is dinner time, Potter, your friends will have returned from Hogsmeade." Madame Pince said.

"Oh, right." Harry said, not having realised he'd spent so long in the library. He'd not even gone to lunch. There were so many books he'd found that fascinated him. He hadn't even noticed the time pass. Gathering his things quickly, Harry replaced the books on their shelves, trying to prevent Pince from seeing what he'd been looking at. Ignoring her disapproving glare he walked out, holding his notebooks and quills. 

As he neared the Hall, he heard the sounds of jollity and laughter, and decided he didn't want to attend the meal, instead backtracking and climbing the staircase to the Gryffindor Tower. What he had read had given him a lot to think about. He went straight up to the dormitory. 

There was a Quidditch practice tonight, and he knew he really should go. After all, tonight he actually could. But it wasn't as if the team needed him. It had been decided last year that for Harry to fly during House matches put him in far too conspicuous and unprotected a position, where he would present an easy target to anyone who might wish to harm him. Thus, he had been taken off the team, and replaced by Dennis Creevey as seeker, and Ron as Captain. The team, however, still looked to him as a coach, training them for their matches. But Ron was perfectly capable of leading the team towards a House victory, and it would do him good to be in charge for a change. And Harry really didn't want to go.

He flopped onto his bed and took out his notebook again. He opened on the page of his picture of Snape and selected a quill. He drew the curtains and settled down, his mind turning over the new information, and began to softly shade the hollow of Snape's cheek. 

It was some time later when Seamus, Dean and Neville arrived back in the dormitory, and they assumed that Harry was asleep, leaving him in peace. He had placed his notebook and quill in the drawer beside his bed and was lying on his back, eyes closed, thinking back to Snape's words. '_My family have… certain ties to the family of Riddle's mother'.     _

The door to the dormitory swung open and was slammed shut loudly, to the protests of Seamus and Dean, who were playing gobstones, the loss of their concentration costing Dean the game. 

"Nice to see you made it to dinner to spend some time with me and Hermione." Ron said loudly in the direction of Harry's bed. Harry stayed silent, hoping that Ron, too, would believe him to be asleep. "Oh, fine," Ron snarled, "have it your way. Don't bother coming to practice." 

Harry heard him stomp off again, and rolled onto his side, staring blankly at the red drapes which surrounded him. There had been three names on that final line of Snapes. Somewhere there existed a brother and a sister… an elder and a younger Snape. What a strange notion, that Snape should have a family. No longer a singular entity, this made him seem more… human.

Harry closed his eyes. The day spent in the library had certainly been invaluable. 

Severus Snape was proving to be a man with far more secrets than Harry had ever imagined.  


End file.
